marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,
marycatelli
marycatelli

summer stuff

It begins to rain, lightly, gently. And thunder rumbles in the distance as the rest rolls in: torrents of rain, the sky as black as night, the wind roaring and bending trees and tearing off branches. A co-worker observes he's new to this area, and is this normal? (Not commonplace, but not freakish, either.) And then the rain is gentle and the sky glowing yellow, and within an hour of when it first started to rain, I walk out under a cloudy but still showing blue sky, without a drop falling. And when I reached home, much of the garden was wet, and indeed rather wet, but parts in the lee of bushes are still dry.

Drove down a highway and found where the storm hit. They had cleared the way, but to either side, great trees lay sprawling among the other trees, sometimes reaching the ground, sometimes held up by other branches.

The buds look like gladiolus leaves, until you look closely enough to see the greenness formed like a wheat ear, with green bud after bud folded up to form the towering leaves. And then they slowly detach from the ear, and show deep blue at the tip.

How the roses grow. On one bank they had turned feral and engulfed it with greenery and multifoliate red blooms.

The apple trees are laden with small, cherry sized fruit, some already starting to blush with red in places.

One bank is covered with purple clover, engulfed in its pale shade, with feral tiger lilies in a stand of bright orange.

The aster buds are showing purple -- in June. The only question is whether they will stay buds for two more days and not bloom before July. Which they do not. The first bloom is fully open for July 2. (And when I drive somewhere on July 4, the wayside sumac is turning brilliant red and yellow and orange.)

Sweetpeas run wild, vines covering the slope with bright purplish pink blossoms. Tiger lilies blossom, orange and feral, among them.

Splat, splat, splat. I can hear the drops hitting, though none have struck me yet, great big globs that form circles when they hit the ground, but so few that I am walking between them.

How sweet the honeysuckle is. Even in full bloom, the little white flowers are not much, but even when most are buds, the air is laden with sweetness far past roses.

The gibbous moon hangs over the roof top -- high enough that I would expect it to be white, or at most yellow, but it hangs there, a blood red. Too orange to be like maraschino cherries.

The cone flowers are in full bloom, all sorts of shades of pink, and orange as well, but the best look at them is not standing before the garden; it's glancing up along the wall, behind the bush next to them, and seeing the mass all juxtaposed.

Trapped on the highway behind an accident, I open the windows to cool off the car. Midmorning, the birds are still twittering cheerfully away, filling the air with their song.

A mushroom after rain -- brown, and it looks like it lost its cap, with only the ribs underneath left, like a book unfolded.

In a pond, the pond scum is green, the brown ducks are swimming along, there's a place between a shallow and an island where bushes are growing, with little sparrows perching there from time to time, and on one side, water lilies are growing, with vivid pink blooms.

I look at the sky and have high hopes, with those gray clouds lowering. Besides, the thunder growls. Rather than water the garden, I head inside for dinner. The clouds pass overhead. Still growling. I see lightning once. And it rains just enough that I can be sure it did, and the blotches don't even all blur together; you can see the dry pavement. So I drag the hose out afterwards -- the clouds have not vanished, and they suffuse the sunset orange over the scene, making the pink, red, and orange flowers look more fiery than even noonday light.

The moon is a yellow-tinged crescent, moving behind clouds -- sometimes clear, sometimes half a crescent, sometimes a smudge that's just a little too large to be a star or even a planet.

The sunset is tingeing the light with color, the streetlights are coming on, and a silhouette against the dying light is fluttering, fluttering, fluttering about in the air, flying in circles. I noticed the wings looked odd but had to study for some time before I realized that it was definitely a bat, not a bird. First one I've seen in flight.
Tags: nature
Subscribe

  • observations about inspiration

    One can discuss what the effect of power levels, and number of superheroes, are on world-building. But when building a superhero story, one doesn't…

  • outlines and subplots

    I think there are going to be subplots. I know that one villainess likes intrigue, and another likes handing magical tutoring to foolish young folk…

  • weaving another thread

    Oh, my. This story bursts past in outlines in New and Unusual Ways. The entire -- long -- episode where she gets taken on a journey and shown a lot…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 0 comments